


The Sapling

by freyjawriter24, tweedfeather



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 11th Century, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, The Arrangement (Good Omens), Trees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedfeather/pseuds/tweedfeather
Summary: “The Arrangement,” the demon said, making it sound like it deserved a capital letter. “D’you want to...commemoratethis Arrangement in some way?”“Perhaps.” Aziraphale thought for a moment. He knew that Crowley was offering to buy him a drink, but he had a better idea. “What about that acorn of yours?”“Huh?”“The acorn. That metaphor you were blathering on about. Why don’t we plant it? Create a sort of… living monument to our agreement.”***A through-the-ages fic-and-art collaboration, following the life of a certain tree (and a certain relationship) as it grows and changes over time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	The Sapling

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [Do It With Style Reverse Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/goodomens_reversebang_2021), based on a sample of work and a story concept put forward by the artist. We've really loved working on this project together, and we hope you enjoy it too!
> 
> **Freyja:** While looking through the claims for this event, I fell in love with this project immediately. The art is beautiful, the concept is awesome, and I immediately had a whole load of ideas about how this tree that Aziraphale and Crowley plant to commemorate the Arrangement could fit into history. I feel so lucky to have been given the opportunity to write this fic, and so thankful to tweedfeather for creating some truly gorgeous art to go along with my ideas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early 11th century, an Arrangement is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > "a tree firmly rooted in the earth"
> 
> Quotation from 'The Life of St. Edmund' by [Ælfric of Eynsham](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%86lfric_of_Eynsham), translated from the Old English by [Karl E. H. Seigfried](https://www.norsemyth.org/2015/07/lfrics-life-of-st-edmund.html).  
> Alternately translated as "an earth-fast tree" by [S. Harvey Gem](https://archive.org/details/anglosaxonabbot00gems/page/162/mode/2up?q=tree).

Aziraphale had been quite enjoying his stroll alone through the woods. It was nice to get away from everything sometimes and re-immerse himself in nature, in all of God’s Creation. Not that he disliked spending time among the humans, of course – they were delightful, and he did in general rather prefer the existence of mud huts and stone cottages and marble palaces to their absence. But sometimes he needed a break from the bustle of day-to-day humanity (especially discussions of a more intense nature), and today was one of those days.

It was a good day for it, too. The sun was shining warmly in a sky that had coloured itself Aziraphale’s exact favourite shade of blue, and the few clouds that were present were fluffy and white, threatening nothing more than the intermittent patch of shade. It was spring, and that added yet more colour to the occasion: the fresh, vibrant greens of newly-unfurled leaves; the soft pinks and whites of downy blossom on the flowering trees; the striking yellows of dandelions and buttercups lining paths and littering wildflower fields. There were dashes of lilacs, reds, oranges, and blues wherever the angel looked, every colour of the rainbow represented in this wonderful little woodland. It was beautiful.

So yes, Aziraphale had been enjoying walking through the trees alone. The silence allowed him to think and breathe, and listen out for all the little noises he overlooked when he was busy talking to humans. Birdsong. The buzzing of insects. The swishing of the breeze through the trees. The snap of twigs and rustle of grass as animals moved through the world.

And yet, he was _aware_ that he was alone. Which was strange. It put a slight melancholy note into his otherwise beautiful morning, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

It seemed odd for an angel to feel lonely. After all, what with the entirety of Heaven above and the whole of the Earth and its wonders down here – not to mention the blessing of God’s grace – how could he ever truly feel alone?

Still, oddly enough, he was.

He decided not to reflect too deeply on that. Far too great a risk of becoming gloomy, and such a beautiful day didn’t deserve that. Instead, Aziraphale decided to focus on appreciating this time. The colours, the smells, the sounds, the sensations, all of it.

The little worn path he was following took him past an open space filled with overgrown grass, and Aziraphale put his hand out to run his fingers through the stems as he walked. They swayed with his touch, brushing his skin and tickling his palm, and he couldn’t help but smile at the miracle of it.

“Incredible,” he whispered aloud to the grass, and watched it wave him off as he pulled his hand away.

Spring was the angel’s favourite season – apart from, well, all the others. The brightness of it, the freshness, the vivacity – it was all so new and cheerful and hopeful. He loved witnessing the youth of every species begin to find its way in the world, and remembered again, every year, the beauty of life. He really didn’t understand why the other angels didn’t come to visit more often at this time of year. It truly was a wonder to behold.

There it was again, that nudge of loneliness. That wish for… something. Someone. A person to talk to, perhaps, or even to walk beside in silence. Just someone to share this all with.

Yes. That’s what was missing here. A friend, someone he knew he could call on to spend time with, someone who understood him, someone who would appreciate a scene like this and could reminisce about it with him later.

None of the angels were like that. None of them understood Earth. None of them understood _him_.

Humans were slightly better company. They were never around for long, comparatively – their lives were upsettingly brief in comparison to his five thousand years, and even aside from that they spent so much of their time _doing_ things that he could never really count on any of them to be available for a catch-up whenever he happened to be in the area. And true, they didn’t know what he was, so there was often a depth of connection that was missing – but they _tried_. That was the difference. The humans made friends with him, they chatted, they included him in their lives, they spent time with him. The most any of the angels did was invite him for business meetings and send him off to far-flung corners of the Earth on missions. There was never any time for socialising.

_Oh dear,_ Aziraphale thought sullenly. He’d managed to make himself gloomy. He’d been trying to avoid that.

Luckily, a noise from up ahead distracted him from his thoughts. It sounded rather like someone falling out of a tree.

The angel quickened his pace. “Everything alright?” he called out, hoping that whoever it was would be able to respond so he knew where to look for them.

It turned out that wasn’t particularly necessary. As he rounded a particularly large ash and its accompanying understorey of hazel, he was presented with the sight of a familiar figure splayed flat on their back across the path.

“Ow,” the fallen figure said belatedly.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, heart leaping in surprised delight.

He hurried over to the demon, no longer worried about potentially broken limbs and instead filled with the joy of seeing an unexpected familiar face.

Crowley pushed himself up to sitting and glared in the direction of the tree before turning to Aziraphale. “Hi, angel. Fancy seeing you here.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, holding out a hand. Crowley took it and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

“Just met the world’s most ungrateful starling,” the demon said, brushing himself down. “You’d think giving a lost egg back would at least elicit _some_ appreciation, but no. Apparently that still counts as a nest invasion, and all I get is a peck to the face and some quite unnecessary screeching.” He glared up at the tree he’d fallen from again, presumably in the direction of said nest.

“You gave an egg back?” Aziraphale said in surprise.

“Yeah, lucky I noticed it, nearly trod on –”

Crowley froze mid-sentence, then slowly looked at Aziraphale. “I was, uh, disrupting the natural order of things. Denying food to the local fox population. Being really very… bad.”

Aziraphale fought to keep his face from twitching into a smile. “Of course.”

The demon turned away, still brushing the debris of the woodland floor from his clothes, and shaking any dirt out of that long, vibrant hair. Quite unexpectedly, Aziraphale felt the urge to reach out and help, to run his own fingers through Crowley’s loose curls.

He didn’t, though. That wouldn’t be appropriate. Crowley was a demon, after all. Angels shouldn’t help out demons, not even on a matter so small. No. Certainly not.

But on the other hand…

Crowley turned back, apparently all sorted, though with a small twig sticking out the side of his thick hair.

“You’ve still got – come here.”

The demon stilled as the angel reached out and pulled the offending detritus away. A lock of hair was caught round it, and it took a moment to untangle.

“There you go,” Aziraphale said, dropping the twig and stepping away. “All sorted.”

A rather strange expression had come over Crowley’s face, but it vanished quickly as the demon coughed. “Uh, thanks, angel.”

“No problem at all.” He gestured onwards down the path, and the two of them began walking together.

“It’s wonderful to see you, my dear,” Aziraphale said warmly. “I was just thinking how lovely it would be to share a walk like this with someone.”

The demon gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah? It is pretty nice out today.” His face took on a soft quality as he looked around the two of them, taking in the sunny sights, the sound of birdsong, the smell of blossom on the gentle breeze. “What brings you here, anyway, other than all this?”

“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale said vaguely. “Just wanted to get out of Snotingaham for a while, take in the scenery. I need a bit of time away from the humans sometimes, and here seemed a beautiful place to do it.”

“You on a job, then? What’re you up to?”

“I didn’t say that!”

Crowley grinned. “No, but I could tell. Must be an important one, or at least a stressful one, if you need to get away from it all for a while.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, yes. If you must know, it’s another political assignment. Heaven wants me to –”

“Oh, no,” the demon groaned. “Don’t say it. You’ve been sent to sway the Earl of Mercia too?”

“Leofwine, yes,” the angel began. “You’re not saying that you –”

“Have also been sent to do the exact same thing but in the other direction, cancelling you out? Yep.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hm.”

Something inside Aziraphale felt a little… tight at that. Tight and hot and… irritated. Yes, that was it. Irritation. Not quite anger, but certainly headed in that direction. Frustration perhaps. Frustration that…

“Why does this keep happening?”

Crowley stared for a second at Aziraphale’s outburst, then recovered himself and shrugged. “Guess they find the same things important, and want them all to go their way.”

“But it’s always via the _exact same methods_. They’re not explaining the situation and helping me to solve it, they’re telling me to do a menial task without offering any wider context, and expecting us to just, what, bounce off each other? Result in a net zero?”

The demon shrugged again. “Seems like it. Probably just want to keep us nipping at each other until Armageddon comes around, so they can be seen to be doing _something_. I ’spect they don’t actually care about the outcome of most of these missions at all.”

“But that’s ridiculous! It’s just a waste of time! They should either commit to their principles and do things _seriously_ , or not bother having us here at all!”

“Nah, that’d be too direct. They don’t want to risk all-out war before the End Times, otherwise it’d screw up all their plans. Better off doing some small-scale stuff – little temptation here, little blessing there – none of which will tip the balance, meanwhile preparing for the Big Stuff in the background so they can make sure they’re on more solid ground than the other side by the time the Apocalypse is due.”

“So we’re just… what? Pointless minions to them?” Aziraphale shook his head at that. No, Gabriel had told him he was doing important things. He’d described last decade’s big mission as ‘essential’, after all. And hadn’t there been something ‘potentially game-changing’ a couple of centuries ago? “No, that’s… that can’t be…”

Crowley moved a little in front of the angel and stopped him, fingers spread out, palms down, in a commanding expression. “Here’s a thought: how much difference does our work actually make, in the grand scheme of things?”

Aziraphale frowned. He knew where this was heading.

“No, seriously, think about it. I do something, you counter me. Net zero, yeah? If we’re not in the picture at all, same thing happens. Net zero. Exact same result. Your reports to Upstairs and mine to Downstairs are gonna read the same regardless – Earl Whatshisface did this, Queen Whateverhernameis did that. No difference whatsoever, except we both get a bit of time off rather than working – really hard, but entirely pointlessly – against each other.”

“Crowley, I’m not listening to this,” Aziraphale said firmly. He began walking again, a little more purposefully than he had before – better to work off the annoyance, the _indignation_ he felt, both at Crowley’s ridiculous suggestion and Heaven’s insistence that he do such ultimately worthless work.

The demon kept pace. “Okay, okay. Think about it another way. Instead of us both working on the same problem and neither getting anywhere, we could agree that the current issue is void – stalemate, equal opposing forces, net zero outcome – and we go _elsewhere_ instead. So you can say to Upstairs: ‘hey, that thing didn’t work out, wiley demon and all that, _but_ I did manage to achieve a similar thing over here instead’. And I can do the same: ‘try-hard angel stopped me this time, but on the other hand I _did_ manage to get X to happen elsewhere, which is basically the same, if not better’. Same amount of energy expended overall, but we both have something _positive_ to tell our bosses instead of negative. Yeah?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but consider that. It would still effectively be a net zero – a good thing for Heaven and a good thing for Hell surely cancelled each other out in much the same way as nothing happening at all – but if Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t working directly against each other it would certainly _look_ better. Not to mention _feel_ better.

Annoyingly, that sounded reasonable.

“I’m not… Look, I’m not saying that doesn’t make _sense_ , Crowley, I’m just…”

“It’s not morally wrong, either, if you think about it! You don’t even have to _lie_ in your reports, just tell the truth in a clear, simple way. ‘I went to follow your orders, encountered impressive demonic resistance’ – that’s me, asking you to call it quits on this one – ‘and the end result was inconclusive. In attempting to outwit the opposition, however, I did manage to…’” He waved a hand vaguely. “Insert your other _good deed_ and you’re golden.”

“Crowley. That’s still a lie by omission.”

“Oh, and you’re telling me you’ve never done that to Heaven before?”

Aziraphale began to shake his head, and the demon raised an eyebrow sceptically.

“You’re saying Gabriel knows every detail of our meetings? You told him about us sharing oysters in Rome? Uriel knows that you explained to me the point of building the Ark, back before the Flood? What did you say to Michael about your encounter with the Black Knight – that you realised it was me and buggered off? Or did you _lie by omission_ then, too?”

Ah. He had a point there.

“I just think…” the angel began. “Well, it all seems rather a – a slippery slope, perhaps – towards your idea of us _swapping roles_ –”

“’S not a bad idea, that. And it would only happen occasionally, and nothing major. Just the odd thing. Like, if I’m already heading off to Iceland for whatever Hell-related reason and you’re asked to bless some poet or politician there – well, that’s an easy thing for me to do, and saves you having to make the journey. Same thing the other way – if you’re coming up here for St Matthew's Fair and I’m having fun down in London, but then I’m told to tempt some randomer to steal a purse in Snotingham, well. Simple enough thing for you to do while you’re here.”

The first time that particular idea had been floated, however many hundreds of years ago, Aziraphale had been shocked at the mere suggestion. Now, to his slight surprise, he found himself actually considering it. There was a practical logic to it, after all.

“Now that’s going too far,” he said anyway. “I’m an _angel_ , I do not _tempt_. And you’re a demon. I don’t even think you _could_ bless anything.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Crowley said quietly. “But fine, sure, whatever. Off the table, if you’re not comfortable. I’ll give you some time to think it over, we can talk again in a century or so.” The demon skittered ahead a little, turning to face Aziraphale and looking him dead in the eyes. “What about the rest of it, though? Non-interference, avoiding us butting heads unnecessarily?”

Aziraphale sighed heavily, and glanced upwards in hopes of gaining some wisdom. But the emerald-leafed canopy above had no advice to give. And it wasn’t as if God herself was going to materialise in front of him now. She hadn’t done that for five thousand years.

“And what happens if Hell comes up to check on you, hmm? Or if Heaven comes down to check on me?” Aziraphale kept moving forwards, brushing past Crowley as he did so.

“Hardly ever happens. Like, practically non-existent. And the likelihood of that happening at the same time as we’re doing something under the terms of whatever arrangement we come to – basically nil.”

“Yes, but what if _does_ , Crowley? I’m not entering any sort of agreement with you without having considered all the potential outcomes.”

“Okay, okay, right. Well, if they come on us separately, somewhere we’re not supposed to be, we can do the whole skirt-the-truth thing, right? Say we’ve haven’t gotten round to it yet, or it’s already sorted, or we encountered opposition and decided the best thing was to try something similar elsewhere, whatever fits the bill best. And if they see us together, we’ll just start fighting, or if it’s obvious we were talking we’ll pretend we were… what’s it called? Arguing, but before… flyting! That's it.”

“Fancy yourself a poet, do you?”

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. “That’s beside the point. We’ve got a plan, okay? It would be fine!”

Ahead of them, the trees opened out into a small clearing. A large log at one side, clear of any plants in front of it and with a worn, smooth upper surface, suggested that this was a common resting place.

Aziraphale made a beeline for the makeshift bench. Crowley followed but remained standing, apparently too animated to sit down, and eager to convince the angel this time.

“It would work, I know it would!”

“Alright…” Aziraphale said slowly, letting himself imagine for a moment that he could agree to this ridiculous plan. “But let’s say I’m... _energised_ by our current battles of wit. Why should I agree to this? Aren’t you just tempting me into sloth?”

Crowley paused for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, then immediately shut it again. He looked around the clearing, casting about for a more convincing argument.

“It’s like… It’s... It’s like a tree, right?” he said, gesturing to the log the angel was sat on.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, inviting the demon to explain.

“Right, so. At the moment, we’re stuck inside the acorn or whatever, both just fighting over who has control of this tiny little space. Who gets to influence Leofwine to their side.”

Crowley was pressing the thumb and forefinger of one hand close together, to indicate the small size of the space they were dealing with. Aziraphale wasn’t sure the demon knew how big acorns actually were.

“But think about it – if we agree that it doesn’t matter who has control of the acorn, if we just let it be and go our separate ways…” He pushed the fingers of both hands into the space where the imaginary acorn had been, then moved them apart again – right hand upwards, fingers first, in a single line, left hand downwards in an identical motion. “We can grow way bigger, accomplish so much more, like the shoot and root of a tree.” He spread his fingers apart, pretending they were branching as the plant grew. “That’s not sloth at all. That’s the _opposite_ of sloth. It’s… whatever the opposite of sloth is.”

Aziraphale put on a contemplative expression.

“And the thing about trees is,” the demon added, dropping his hands, “that the branches above ground always match the roots below ground. There’ll still be a net zero, which is basically what Heaven and Hell are looking for, _but_ an entire tree is far more impressive than an acorn. And to the people above ground, all they see are the leaves, while the creatures below ground only ever see the roots.”

Crowley looked pleased with this analogy. He waited, grinning, for Aziraphale’s verdict.

“Fine. I grant you it makes sense. I’d much prefer to actually be doing something useful than just undoing whatever work you’re doing or have you nullify all of mine.”

The demon’s eyes widened as he realised what Aziraphale was saying.

“ _But_ ,” the angel emphasised. “I’m not doing any temptations. It’s _just_ avoiding each other. We’re not working together, we’re choosing to work apart. Agreed?”

“Yes,” Crowley said breathlessly, beaming brighter than the sun.

“That’s settled, then. That’s the arrangement. We stay out of each other’s way where possible, and where we would be working directly in opposition to each other, we agree to each do nothing – or go elsewhere – rather than do work that will just be cancelled out.”

“Perfect.” Crowley looked inordinately pleased with himself, which Aziraphale should have been wary of. But it was a nice change to see the demon smile so unashamedly. He’d been a lot more sullen the past few years. (The past thousand, if he was allowing himself to be accurate.) So he decided not to worry, just this once. After all, Crowley wasn’t all bad. He may be a demon, but Aziraphale trusted him. To a certain extent.

“Right then.” Aziraphale stood and held out his hand. Crowley took it.

“The Arrangement,” the demon said, making it sound like it deserved a capital letter. “D’you want to... _commemorate_ this Arrangement in some way?”

“Perhaps.” The angel thought for a moment. He knew that Crowley was offering to buy him a drink, but he had a better idea. “What about that acorn of yours?”

“Huh?”

“The acorn. That metaphor you were blathering on about. Why don’t we plant it? Create a sort of… living monument to our agreement.”

“Right. Yes. Sounds good.”

Crowley looked upwards at the trees around them, searching out an oak. Then his face fell.

“It’s spring, angel. They’re not ready yet.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at that. “You’re a demon, dear. You have miracles.”

“Oh!” Crowley looked a little embarrassed at having to be reminded of that fact. “Yeah, course. Here.”

He pulled a fist upwards and opened it to show a light brown acorn, freshly plucked from the ether.

“Lovely! Where shall we plant it?”

They decided the centre of the clearing was as good as anywhere. They chose a spot and knelt opposite one another in the grass. Crowley manifested a trowel in his other hand and dug a shallow hole in the earth.

****

“To the Arrangement,” the demon said cheerfully, holding up the acorn as if in toast.

Aziraphale smiled softly to himself at Crowley’s excitement. It really was lovely to see him this way.

“To the Arrangement,” he replied.

The acorn was placed reverently into the hole, the dirt scooped back on top of it and smoothed over, and then Crowley placed his free hand against the ground, half over the disturbed soil. Aziraphale mirrored him, their fingers almost touching over the buried seed.

Aziraphale had never felt the proximity of a demonic miracle before. Crowley did them around him all the time – summoning acorns, for example, or tripping nobles, or sobering up – but none of those had ever actually _touched_ him. But this time, as each of them pressed their own miracles into the earth, the two strands of power mingled, and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s energy, his very being, closer than he ever had before.

Lover of words that he was, even he couldn’t describe the sensation.

It was over in a moment, though, and a new wonder arose in front of them: the shoot of a sapling. The delicate green stem pushed its way up through the soil before their eyes, unfurling a pair of wavy-edged leaves that happily began to soak up the spring sunshine.

“Wow.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure which of them had said it. Perhaps both.

They pushed a few more miracles into the dirt, just in case. To keep animals from eating it, humans from disturbing it, diseases from destroying it. They strengthened and protected the sapling – both its stem and its roots – and ensured that it would stand strong as a representation of their agreement. Their Arrangement.

When they were done, Crowley sat back on his heels. “Right then. Fancy a drink, angel? Or some dinner, perhaps?”

Aziraphale leaned back and let his eyes close, feeling the sunlight warm his face.

This felt _right_ , didn’t it? Agreeing to help each other. Agreeing to advance the cause of their respective sides, whilst avoiding tiresome losses. Agreeing to make their efforts _worth_ something, rather than resulting in a constant series of stalemates.

_Yes._ Yes, this was right. This was good. This was reasonable. And he was glad he’d done it.

No backing out now, anyway. Deal with the devil, and all that.

The angel smiled at his own joke, and opened his eyes to look at Crowley, bright-eyed and grinning hopefully. Hardly looking like a demon at all.

“Yes, that sounds lovely. Lead on!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> If you want to check out more of our work, you can find freyjawriter24's AO3 account [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24) and tweedfeather's AO3 account [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedfeather). You can also find us on tumblr as [freyjawriter24](https://freyjawriter24.tumblr.com/) and [tweedfeather](https://tweedfeather.tumblr.com/) respectively.


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